by Dorothy Cork
‘Yair—I’ll give a yell if anyone’s going that way,’ he said obligingly enough.
Farrell put in a restless and miserable day. It wasn’t till early afternoon that anyone came to the roadhouse at all. A couple of cars had gone by, but it was completely beyond Farrell to stand beside the road and try to thumb a lift. Then a truck driver stopped for petrol, and after a moment she saw him stroll over to the restaurant. The roadhouse proprietor jerked his head in Farrell’s direction, and though he didn’t give her a yell, she understood that here was her chance of a lift. She waited outside under the cloudless sky for the truck driver to appear again. She hadn’t had any lunch, and didn’t want any—food would have choked her.
Presently the truck driver emerged and came over to where she was waiting. He looked her over pretty thoroughly, then asked her with a grin, ‘You the girl who’s looking for a lift to Port Hedland? Here, give us your bags and hop in.’
Farrell smiled uncertainly and did so. He looked all right, she told herself, determinedly cheerful. He was big and husky and he wore khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, open at the neck and showing a bush of hair.
As they started off, he offered her cigarettes, which she refused with a smile. He lit one up for himself and told her, ‘Name’s George. You can call me that or anything else that turns you on.’
‘My name’s—Farrell!’ she responded after an instant, because it was expected of her.
He cocked his rather bushy eyebrows. ‘Miss? You’re too young for a missus. What’s your first name?’
Farrell swallowed. ‘Jean,’ she said after a moment. It seemed easier than explaining that Farrell was her first name, and it didn’t matter much in any case.
After an hour or so of driving, George’s hand began to wander to Farrell’s thigh. She edged away towards the window, but he had no hesitation in reaching out and pulling her back.
‘Aw, come on, Jeanie—I’m doing you a favour, remember. You can be a little bit friendly, can’t you?’
Farrell had no idea how to handle the situation. She couldn’t insist he should either let her alone or allow her to get out of the truck—that would be asking for trouble. She wished she were one of those girls who could make some smartly confident and perhaps amusing retort that would put George in his place yet maintain a good relationship. But she wasn’t, and all she could do was sit where she was with that great hot hairy paw resting on her thigh, and pray that George would expect nothing more in the way of—friendliness.
Her heart gave a leap of fright when not much later he swung the truck oil the highway on to a side road. There was a signpost, but Farrell had seen it too late to read what it said, and but for the fact that the road was, astonishingly, bitumen, she’d have thought they were heading for one of the sheep properties.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked uneasily, knowing at least that this was not the way to Port Hedland.
‘Nowhere—or as good as. To Ansell. Ever heard of it?’ Yes, Farrell had heard of the iron ore mine at Mount Ansell, but she knew no more about it than she did about Newman or Tom Price or Paraburdoo. She had never been to any of the inland mining towns.
‘It’s a company town, isn’t it?’ she asked.
‘That’s right, Jeanie. Completely owned by Ansell-Sandfort Mining. I’ve got an order to drop off there. You’ll be able to stretch your legs.’
Farrell had given a start. Ansell-Sandfort! That must be the company Larry Sandfort was connected with. She said vaguely, ‘I’ll be glad to stretch my legs.’
George turned his head and grinned at her. ‘We won’t be in Port Hedland till after dark, you know.’
‘I—I realise that.’ Her glance went instinctively to the huge hairy forearms revealed by the short-sleeved shirt, and she shuddered inwardly at the thought of travelling at night with this man. As the truck rolled rapidly along the smooth bitumen road, a jumble of ideas chased each other through her mind. Couldn’t she look for Larry Sandfort in Ansell—ask his help? But would he be there, or was he still in Perth at the mining offices? He might even be on his way to the Coral Reef Hotel! In any event, she made up her mind quite definitely she was going no further with George. But she thought she’d keep quiet about it. She’d wait till he’d dropped off his order and sneak her bags out of the truck and disappear. Leave a note so he wouldn’t go looking for her. Yes, that was what she would do. She could stay overnight at the hotel—there was bound to be one—and then—At that moment they passed a turn-off signposted Aerodrome, and her heart lifted. She thought in relief, ‘I’ll be able to take a plane to Port Hedland.’
A few minutes later the town of Ansell appeared. It was as unexpected as an oasis, isolated here in the middle of nowhere on the flat red spinifex plain, ringed about with bare ranges, their long ridges crowned with square-cut red rocks that looked like the crumbling walls of ancient fortresses, as they glowed in the afternoon sun.
‘It’s incredible!’ she exclaimed, as they drove down a street edged with green lawns, spreading out from modern homes shaded by big trees—homes with air-conditioning plants in evidence, with solar heating cylinders on their roofs. Sprinklers spun and glittered, greenery flourished, bright tropical flowers were everywhere, poincianas spread their feathery branches. ‘It’s all so green!’
‘Yair. It’s had mobs of money poured into it,’ George said laconically, negotiating a corner. ‘No one’ll stay out here long unless the living conditions are extra good. It’s too isolated—and the climate’s a cow. Even with all this’—he waved a large hand as they passed a sports centre complete with Olympic-type swimming pool—‘labour turnover’s somewhere around forty-five per cent.’ He swung the wheel again and drove into the parking lot in front of a modern arcaded shopping complex. ‘This is where I do my stuff.’
He got out and slammed the door shut. ‘You’ll find a Ladies in the park, Jeanie. Get yourself a can of Coke if you want it—we’ll leave in twenty minutes or so.’
Farrell nodded. She waited nervously until he had opened the back of the truck before she slipped out of her seat and crossed the road to the park. There she found a seat out of sight, ripped a page from the small diary in her handbag, and scribbled ‘Thanks’ on it. It seemed pointless to write any more—he’d get the idea—and anyhow she didn’t have any definite plans other than to avoid having to travel on with him and probably fight him off when it was dark, or even before that.
After a few minutes she hurried back to the truck, put her note and a couple of dollars on the front seat, dragged her suitcases on to the ground and looked about her. A young woman pushing a stroller with an infant in it looked rather curiously, and Farrell asked her on impulse, ‘Could you tell me where the—hotel is, please?’
‘The Ansell you’d want,’ the woman said pleasantly. She pointed along the street. ‘You see where the bank is—the Commonwealth? Turn the corner there and it’s a little way along on your left.’
‘Thank you,’ Farrell breathed. She picked up her bags and walked quickly along the footpath towards the bank. It struck her as she hurried along that she needn’t go back to Port Hedland, she could find work here if, as George had said, people were quitting their jobs so often. There absolutely must be something she could do. Suddenly she felt a lot more cheerful. She didn’t really want to return to Port Hedland, nor did she want to go back to her father’s hotel and have decisions made about her future. She knew only too well she would be packed off back to Aunt Jean. And the month her father had granted her had hardly begun. Perhaps it was a good thing after all that Mark had walked out on her. She really couldn’t blame him for doing so either—though that was something she didn’t particularly want to think about just now.
By the time she reached the Ansell Hotel—only it was the Ansell Motel, she noticed, she was feeling more than slightly sick. Inside, she set her suitcases down and put a hand on her forehead, feeling the perspiration of nausea on it. What on earth was the matter with her? It took her a minute to remember
that she hadn’t eaten anything all day except for a slice of toast at breakfast time. She found her way to the reception desk and asked if she could have a room, and when she had signed the register, she asked the woman who looked friendly, ‘Could you tell me if it would be possible to find work in Ansell? I’m looking for something—well, for anything, really.’
While she was speaking a door behind the desk opened and a man appeared and stood listening. As she finished speaking he came forward.
‘Excuse me, Alice’—this was" to the receptionist. ‘Now, Miss—er—Fitzgerald,’ he continued with a quick glance at her signature, ‘my name’s Forbes. I’m the manager here. In answer to your question, this is a company-owned town, and no matter what kind of work you’re looking for, all appointments are made through the offices in Perth.’
Farrell was slightly taken aback. ‘All? Surely—surely waitresses aren’t appointed in Perth!’ she exclaimed.
He smiled slightly. ‘Oh dear me, yes—if necessary, the company would have applicants screened by a Perth agency. But as a general rule, wives of male employees here are recruited as waitresses and bar staff. The majority of couples here are out to make good money, you know. They’re not here for the climate or the social life. You wouldn’t want to do that kind of work anyhow,’ he added smoothly.
‘Why not?’ Farrell said coolly. ‘I’ve had some—some hotel experience,’ she added, for that was certainly true in a limited way.
‘Not in a company town,’ he said flatly. ‘Quite frankly, Miss Fitzgerald, I wouldn’t advise you to seek work in Ansell at all. You don’t look the type who could cope with it.’
‘If you mean the climate,’ Farrell countered, tossing back her fair curls and aware that hunger and weariness probably made her look far from robust, ‘that wouldn’t worry me. I’m healthy enough—’
‘I’m not talking about the climate. There’s a shortage of women here, and you can work out for yourself what that means.’
Farrell, in her present condition, couldn’t. She could hardly think straight at all, and she heard herself say stiffly, ‘Would mentioning Larry Sandfort’s name make any difference? I need a job and I’m—I’m a friend of his.’
The manager looked sceptical. ‘Mentioning his name wouldn’t help one little bit, dear. And for your information, he left this morning for the coast in his plane, so you won’t be able to call on him to back you up. I’m afraid I can’t help you at all.’
Farrell gave in and moved away thoughtfully. So Larry had left for the coast—to look for her? She trembled a little at the thought.
She carried her luggage through to where a wide sloping roof shaded a walk around a paved court. A little gateway under a swathe of yellow-flowered vines led to the motel units. Farrell’s was number twenty-four. She unlocked the door and stepped into a cool whitewashed room with a slanting ceiling supported by heavy black beams. There were twin beds, and a door at the opposite side of the room evidently led into the bathroom. She put her luggage down and stood where she was for a moment. She felt like flinging herself down on one of those beds and passing out. She badly needed something to eat or to help her over her nausea. The air-conditioner hummed softly, and a discreet little notice attached to the side of the small refrigerator advised guests to keep doors and windows closed to exclude heat and insects.
Farrell wondered if she should make herself some coffee. But more than coffee, she needed a little brandy to settle her queasy stomach.
She wondered afterwards how she had made such a mistake, but instead of going to the cocktail bar, she took the wrong turning, and walked from another shaded verandah into the saloon bar.
It was crowded with men. There was not a single woman to be seen except for the girl behind the bar. Feeling stunned, Farrell started to cross the floor. Her progress was accompanied by a series of whistles, loud remarks, and invitations. ‘What’re you doing tonight, love?’—‘Hey, honey, what’s your name?’—‘Come ’n give us a kiss, sweetheart.’ Her head spun, someone caught at her arm and she pulled herself free. She was beginning to feel frightened, and she didn’t know whether to go on or try to get back out of the room. After hesitating a moment she pushed her way on, keeping her eyes on the blonde barmaid. She reached the bar at last, but before she could even ask for a brandy, there were at least half a dozen men pressing around her offering to buy her a drink. It was like a nightmare and she wished she could wake from it. Somehow a fight broke out, and, badly frightened now, she tried to push her way through the crowd of jostling males and get to the door. She thought she was going to faint, and she almost screamed when hard fingers gripped her arm.
Then a voice she knew said firmly, ‘Come on, I’ve got you, Farrell. Keep moving.’
It was Larry Sandfort.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next few minutes were hazy, and then she was leaning back on the lounge in a spacious room—one of the suites kept for VIPs from the mining company, she discovered later, in this case, Larry Sandfort.
He held a glass to her lips and she sipped not brandy, but whisky.
‘What the hell were you doing along in the saloon bar?’ he grated.
Farrell raised her eyes and looked at him. She had met him only once, yet his broad shoulders, that lock of brown hair over his forehead, the softening cleft in his chin—they looked so familiar and so reassuring and they made her feel so safe. The only unrecognisable thing was the expression in his eyes. They were harder than she remembered, more enigmatic, and even more searching.
‘I—I needed a brandy,’ she said weakly. ‘I wasn’t feeling well.’
‘So? Couldn’t someone else have fetched you a brandy? Don’t you know it’s asking for trouble for a pretty girl—in fact, for practically any woman even remotely personable—to saunter into a roomful of men in a mining town like Ansell?’
‘I made a mistake. I—I meant to go to the cocktail bar.’ Farrell handed him back the glass and he looked at her narrowly.
‘I’d have thought your boy-friend could have got you a brandy, or at least come with you.’
She stared at him, colour rushing to her face. He couldn’t possibly have seen her arrive with that truck driver and thought it was her boy-friend—and neither could he possibly know anything about Mark. She said confusedly, ‘I’m here on my own. I’m—’
‘Are you? I’m surprised to find you here at all. According to your father, you’re in Port Hedland looking for work.’
Her lashes flicked down. ‘Oh. Were you—up there today?’
‘That’s right. I flew over to the coast early this morning with the specific purpose of doing what I’d told you I was going to do, only to be told you’d gone to Port Hedland.’
‘Yes. Well, we—I—I couldn’t find work, so we—I—’
‘Come on now,’ he said roughly, seating himself at the other end of the couch, his body turned so he could look straight at her. ‘Which is it going to be? We—or I? You told me a minute ago you’re on your own.’
‘I am,’ she assured him, widening her eyes.
‘Are you going to tell me you were referring to the girls you told your father you took off with?’
She looked away from that probing glance. Of course, she could have told him that, but it hadn’t entered her head, and now she bit her lip and said nothing.
‘Why did you leave home in such a hurry when I told you I’d be back for you, Farrell?’ he pressed, dropping the subject.
‘You know why—I had to get out of my father’s—out of Cecile’s hair. Things got—worse. I didn’t want to make trouble.’
‘You could have hung on and waited for me. You knew I meant what I said.’
Her heart was thudding. Crazily Farrell wished for a moment that she had waited, but she told him, her head up, ‘I may be young, but I’m not stupid enough to take up that kind of an offer.’
‘No?’ Through her lashes she saw his lips twist. ‘It was seriously intended, Farrell. I’d have discussed it with your father
—received his permission. In my opinion, you did something much more stupid.’
‘What—what do you mean?’ she stammered.
‘What do you think I mean?’ His voice had hardened. ‘Your stepmother told me—in confidence—that she saw your boy-friend pick you up outside Wesfarmers the morning you left.’
Farrell smothered a gasp. ‘All right, but it was only—he just gave me a lift to—’
He stopped her with a gesture of his hand. ‘Oh, come on, Farrell. Don’t prevaricate or you’ll fall over the edge into an outright lie. Why not be honest about what you did? You know damned well it wasn’t just a matter of getting a lift. Your stepmother recognised the man as someone named Smith you’d brought to the hotel once. For good measure, she also told me she’d seen you on the beach with him several times—lying about in the sandhills was the way she put it, whatever that might mean.’
‘It doesn’t mean a thing,’ said Farrell huskily. Her pulses were racing. Cecile must have seen her the day Mark chased her, but oh, how unbelievably spiteful, how unfair, to have blown the whole thing up and passed it on to someone who was virtually a stranger—just because she resented Larry Sandfort’s interest in her stepdaughter. ‘I can’t help what Cecile told you. She just doesn’t understand.’
‘No? Then if it was all so innocent, why didn’t you tell your father?’ he said dismissively. ‘You parted company when you reached Port Hedland, did you?’
‘No,’ she said, colouring.
‘But now you’re on your own? When did the alliance break up?’
‘Last night. At least—you see, neither of us had found work, so we came through to the tableland, and last night he—I—’ she floundered and stopped.
‘Go on. What happened last night?’
‘Nothing,’ she said faintly. ‘We—we stayed at a roadhouse and when I woke up this morning he’d—gone.’ Her voice almost faded away as she realised too late how that would sound.
